Page 9 of Camping with the Boss

“You are a traitor.” I jab my finger at Taffy. But she just meows. “He’s a jerk. A…dick. How could you do this?” I slump onto the couch. Not sure what to do. Taffy jumps in my lap and snuggles against me. “It’s not your fault, sweetie—hold up.” I sniff her again. She smells like Wade Darian’s expensive cologne. “You little hussy.”

My cat loves cologne. She can’t resist rubbing up on a man who smells good. And then, against my better judgment, I sniff again, inhaling the intoxicating scent I couldn’t appreciate while he was here. Taffy was probably all over him, rubbing all over his chest. His neck. Sure, this guy’s a jerk. But he’s an attractive jerk.

I’d love to rub up against him just once.

No. No, I absolutely wouldn’t love that.

Spending five days with him will be challenging in many ways. And he’d be my boss. My straight boss.

Not that it matters. Even if I was interested and he was miraculously gay or bi and interested in me, it wouldn’t happen. I’d never be brave enough to show him my scars.

Or admit I’ve never been intimate with anyone.

The bigger worry is that my mouth will get me in trouble. As an athlete, River was popular in high school. I was not.

And now, I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut, especially around bullies, especially around Wade Darian.

Can I really do this? But what’s the alternative? River loses his job. We lose the car. And the house.

What if River doesn’t come back?

I can’t think about that. The extra money would go a long way to getting us out of debt. And River would still have his job.

“But it’s a camping retreat.” I give Taffy extra scratches behind the ears because she listens to my whining without protesting or scurrying away in a huff. “Outdoors. You know I hate going outside.” And by outside, I don’t mean the library or the dollar store. I mean forests, the woods, sleeping under the stars. Those things I hate.

I sigh. I have no choice.

But I still go through the motions and call River one more time. It doesn’t even go to voicemail. He’s no longer screening my calls. His phone is off.

Whatever.

I text my boss next. I’m only part-time, and I’ve had to take time off now and then for doctor appointments and sometimes for stuff with River. He doesn’t hesitate and wishes me luck with whatever’s going on. That is how a boss should be. Not screaming in your face.

My last text goes to Alex.

Going out of town for a few days. Can you keep Taffy for me?

I’ll be right over.

I don’t need you until later this afternoon.

You never go anywhere. Even for ONE day. Give me ten minutes.

Great. As I wait for my best friend to arrive, a thrill runs through my body. Excitement? Or terror?

I’m doing something. It may be a terrible idea—is a terrible idea—but I feel alive. The feeling is completely foreign to me, but I don’t quite hate it.

When Alex arrives twenty minutes later, I have to give her crap. “You said ten.”

She holds up takeout bags from Niko’s, my favorite Greek restaurant. “I brought lunch.”

“You’re the best.” We spread the food out on the coffee table in my living room and eat with our plates in our laps. And for a second, my mind wanders. Does Wade Darian ever eat meals while sitting on the couch? Most people do at some point, but he seems so well put together that I can’t picture it.

Yet we’ll be in the woods. In tents? Cabins? He’s sure to get dirty, and my thoughts screech to a halt. I can’t think of that without hyperventilating.

“Give me the tea already.” Alex nudges me with her elbow, and I almost drop my fork.

“Hey. I’m eating.”

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